


12 Cosmic Signs That Control Or Minds

by Gildedmuse



Category: Hair - MacDermot/Rado/Ragni
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Character Study, Gen, Hippies, Niche Fandom Fic, Zodiac signs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 10:52:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18798895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gildedmuse/pseuds/Gildedmuse
Summary: A study of twelve members of the tribe with assistance from the stars





	12 Cosmic Signs That Control Or Minds

**The Twelve Cosmic Signs That Control Our Minds**

 

**Aries**

**  
** One thing is  _ damn _ certain, for sure he isn't no little child.

  
Hud came by his mom's without thinking much of it. She does get worried if he's gone too long without stopping in, but then maybe Hud's given her more than a few good reasons to worry. Could be that he pushes a little too much against his luck now and again. He never forgets that he can't always go about life the same way a white boy would - never, actually. Could be, though, that sometimes even knowing all he does, Hud forces himself on through all the teaching about how to be a good, safe black boy and makes up a full on riot. Maybe his mom worrying isn't so crazy.

  
He knows she'd been worrying this time 'cause as soon as he walks in, he gets swatted at. And it ain't that annoyed swat she sometimes gives him for leaving her home and letting her worry on him while he's out making trouble out of nothing, hanging with those people that make trouble for him. No, this was a kinder sort of swat, almost a pat. A good, your home, let me feel that beautiful dark skin of yours so I know you ain't just body in disgues but my son. She can't hug him first thing, not when he lets her worry so much, so she takes aim and smacks him right on the cheek, leaving not a print behind and her fingers slide down his jaw, feeling out his features and she looks at him with lonely, big old mothering eyes and still holding his jaw shakes her head, letting Hud know he's done her no good these last few days.

 

But he's here now, and that's what matters.

 

"Too much," she says, letting his jaw go only to give him a few quick pats on the cheek, solid and fleshy for sure. "Too much Tobin is like you. Now  _ he's _ disappearing for nights at a time, letting me worry. You know where he learned that trick."

 

She wags her finger at him, and Hud lights up. That doesn't sound so bad, does it? Tobin's a big boy. Seventeen full years of learning how to stay out of trouble, Hud helping him along like a big brother should, and Tobin will be fine. Hud laughs, scooping his mom up into his arms. "Glad to be home."

 

Home. Hud has an apartment that he shares with Dionne and Saycon and Wayne, which is alright but it ain't home. Not in the same way this broken down old apartment barely able to fit three and yet used for six, nothing is home like the creaking downs and broken windows and sink that won't stop dripping. It's a good drip, though. A sound Hud knows and listens for, seeing that it reminds him of a tribal drum beat (or had when his old man use to tell him stories about water spirits back in Africa and Hud's mind crept up all these images because, to him, Manhattan was the great jungle of his home land and it needed to be filled with stories.) Everything about home is just right, even his mom making a scene to get out of his arms.

 

"You boys," she says, walking over towards the kitchen, and Hud follows in a few easy steps, still grinning like a maniac, partly cause he knows she won't like it none, for him to be so lax while she's trying to bring on the guilt. No, mom, that trick don't work so well now that he's all grown. "Sometimes I wonder who in God's name raised you. Certainly weren't me."

 

This went on a while, and Hud grabbed himself (and a few others) some food while the landlord came up, asking for his share. That's when the trouble started, because his mom taught him to make no fuss when there was white people about, that could only lead to trouble. The landlord was white as any snow, stuck to the New York streets and slushed over, dirty and smelled like piss, that's their landlord. Hud's gotta be about twice his height when he holds himself up right, which he does 'stead of slinking on in the back like his mom woulda liked. Why's he gotta go making a scene, he can hear it through her when she watches Hud come up on next to her side, that's exactly how black boys get themselves beaten and killed by cops. Had it happen to more than a few friends of hers, neighbors, people at church. Saw it all the time, and didn't want it happening to her own son.

 

But Hud's old man, he hadn't raised his son to cower to anybody, no matter what shade of the rainbow he might be. No one is there to look out for the black man, he's got to watch his own back, and keep a third one sitting front and center, and two more to each side. No one is going to help you, son, but your own self. That's what dark skin means in this country, that you ain't got no help.

 

So when the landlord tries to go and bully a few extra dollars from his poor mom, Hud doesn't back down, just like his old man. That's what the landlord sees in him, too, and says as much because no one ever tells white men to watch their tounges around blacks, a lesson Hud'd been told earlier than he could remember the world itself. "Best keep that boy of yours from acting too much like his father," He comments, trying to sound so off hand but the hatred in his voice cuts right through all that fake shit he puts on. Every part of it but the smell. No, that sticks around. "A bit of an uppity acting little child, ain't he?"

 

Hud'd been called uppity so much, he hardly even has his ears hear it no more, easier to just block it out whenever it's thrown his way. Wanted to start a fight every time some big old white folk call him uppity, he wouldn't have time for much else.

 

Hud's damn sure not a little child, though. That insult hits right on mark, burns the way it's supposed to, ruffles Hud up plenty. A man can only be treated like a good old pet, a small boy, anything but grown up and human for so long before he wants to get his word in, show the world he's perfectly mature, that he ain't there for them to smile at indulgently when he's done good and scold him when he's bad. Only his mom can do that, and only on account of she's the one that gave birth to him and raised him up.

 

This old man, though, he doesn't get any say.

  
  
  



End file.
